Pondering

Well, here we are on Wednesday...it if officially my last week of being pregnant. Come early labor or not, this baby will be here in 7 days. That is all. This time next week, I'll be laying on my back in an operating room, prepped for surgery, awaiting the floaty sensation of numbness to overtake my lower body, as I chat warmly and calmly with the staff that will be attending me...awaiting the pressure that will be the incision and the odd sensation of tugging and pulling that will feel like me, but not like me...and then will be greeted, just a short time later with the doctor's announcement of "Ok Mommy and Daddy! It's a ____! What's this little one's name?" and here the squawk of those first cries, and be overwhelmed with that sensation that only a mother can feel at hearing those cries...And if, by some whim of God it happens before next Wednesday, that's ok too...then, at this time next week, we'll be getting to new our newest son or daughter, memorizing features, counting fingers and toes over and over again, giving kisses and hugs, keeping excited older siblings from head butting or bonking, and helping them hold the baby...sharing those experiences with my own siblings and parents...knowing that my in-laws will be happy but sad at the same time that they can't be here to hold and love the baby right away, but knowing that their hearts are overflowing nonetheless.

And in between now and then, I will strive to maintain normalcy for Capt and DG, keeping up with the laundry so my mother doesn't feel as though she has to do it for me, cooking meals, snuggling and reading and playing as much as I can to fill some imaginary container of "mommy time" in each of the kids to the brim, so that those days I physically cannot do those things, they are able to know they are loved and adored by me.

I will spend the next days nervously wondering if each twinge and ripple of sensation is the start of labor, or just my own hypersensitivity...wondering if I should avoid all things not bland and boring coming out of my kitchen...wondering if I should go see the chiropractor or not...wondering if that extra trip up and down stairs for one last load of laundry will do me in...

I don't feel ready...I don't feel the sense of urgency to get through this next week...I don't feel like a beached whale all the time...but I do want to meet this little one and see what their face looks like, hoping half-heartedly that maybe, just maybe my dark genes will triumph and we'll end up with a black-haired, blue-eyed charmer with those thick, mile-long lashes and dimpled cheeks, with the cleft chin...you know...sort of like Christopher Reeves from the Superman days...or the description of Scarlett and Rhett's daughter Bonnie from Gone with the Wind...

Not that I don't love the honey-haired, blue-eyed charmers with those other features...there's just a part of me that wants this last little one to look like it's mama from the get-go...and to have people say to the baby "OH! You look like your Mommy!" rather than how much they look like their daddy, or their uncles...or weirder still...to have to hear my mom say how much they look like one of my brothers' kids...nothing like hearing your daughter looks like her cousin did at this age...

I know that it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but somewhere, there is that part of me that wants to have one of my children look like me in all things...or most things...